Ravings And Ravages
by volley
Summary: A first contact: will it go smoothly?
1. Chapter 1

I have to stop listening to these old songs, while I drive to work: I get these crazy ideas…

Well, I hope you enjoy what popped into my head this time.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Grateful thanks, as always, to my beta readers, Sita Z and RoaringMice, who not only correct my mistakes but invariably make such interesting suggestions.

* * *

"By the look on your face, I'd say you haven't managed to convince the Capt'n that we should carry side arms," Trip teasingly probed as he accepted Malcolm's offer to sit in his desk chair.

After the shift had ended, Trip had not been able to find his friend anywhere, so he had come to Reed's quarters, certain that Malcolm would be brooding there all alone. He offered him one of two bottles of beer he had brought along to cheer the man up, and Reed accepted it with a nod of thanks.

"What else is new?" Malcolm replied, with a disgusted expression, "After all, we're only going down to an unknown planet, to meet an unknown species, with unknown culinary tastes: for all we know armoury officers and engineers are much-sought-after delicacies on Herion," he quipped with a grimace. He raised the bottle in a silent 'cheers' and took a swig.

"Ah, but you're forgetting T'Pol has downloaded all the info sent by the delightful governess and is going to brief us about their uses and customs before we leave. So don't worry: we'll know in advance what sauce they prefer with deep-fried armoury officers." Trip bantered, patting Malcolm's leg.

Reed groaned and let himself fall back on the bed like a dead weight.

"Aw, stop worrying Malcolm. You're incorrigible, you know that?" the engineer playfully scolded.

"Fine. I may well be," Reed pushed himself back up onto his elbows, scowling, "But up to now I've managed to keep us all in one piece. And that's no slight task, if I may say so myself, considering Captain Archer's resolve to test our transience with such bloody regularity," he concluded in his clipped accent, which anger seemed to exaggerate.

"Transience?" Trip laughed out, "Well, I'll admit, our _transit_ through space has been rather eventful so far."

Malcolm tilted his head and hinted, suddenly tongue-in-cheek, "Talking of being incorrigible and of eventful adventures, Commander, I would be careful if I were you: Tara III… Charles Tucker III… there _is_ an odd assonance. Make sure T'Pol reads all there is to know about this species' mating customs: with your record, before you know it you might find yourself lawfully wedded to the ruler of Fan'her. And I'm not sure anyone would want that, if you ask me; she doesn't look like a very sweet lady."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Go on, admit it. You're jealous of my romances with beautiful aliens," Trip countered.

"'Beautiful aliens': let's see, does that include those two on Risa as well?" Malcolm asked innocently.

Their eyes met and they burst into laughter. The crew, Captain included, were still trying to find out why Commander Trip Tucker and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had returned from their two days' shore leave on Risa clad only in their skivvies; but Trip and Malcolm were not ready to reveal that they had followed two 'gorgeous aliens' into a cellar only to see them transform into ugly male muggers.

"I'm sure everythin' will go just fine," Trip offered soothingly, after a moment. "In any case, those damn dress uniforms are so stiff that, even if we had phase pistols, we wouldn't be able to bend our arm to reach for them!" he finished with a chuckle.

_That morning, on the bridge_

"Stop bouncing your leg, Trip!" Archer finally exploded. He regretted sounding like a father quashing an insubordinate child, but the repetitive movement was beginning to get on his nerves.

The engineer shot his captain a rueful glance.

It had been quiet lately on the bridge of the Enterprise. _A bit too quiet_, Captain Jonathan Archer silently complained, shifting on that instrument of penance that went by the high-sounding name of 'the Captain's chair'. The ship had been cruising in deep space for the past few days without coming across so much as a damn speckle of interesting dust. No planets of any sort, no comets, no aliens – bad _or_ good –, not even an ion storm.

Archer looked around him at the alpha shift crew.

Hoshi was desperately pressing the ear-piece into her left ear: she would probably jump up in celebration to hear so much as a Klingon warrior swearing.

Travis was leaning against the back of his seat looking completely apathetic. Having only a rear view of the helmsman, Archer wondered if he was even awake: for all he had to do he could have piloted the ship with his eyes closed and standing on his head.

T'Pol didn't seem at all affected by the recent lack of activity. Nothing new, of course: her impassivity made it difficult to tell if she was actually bothered by it or not.

Archer turned to his right.

_Malcolm looks bored stiff_. And although 'stiff' suited the Armoury Officer just fine, 'bored' really didn't. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was a chronic workaholic. But to make things irksome for him, tactical systems had been working perfectly well for an unprecedented number of days now. Malcolm was sitting at his post, staring at the monitor with even less enthusiasm he might show for a bowl of goldfish.

_I bet Malcolm would love it right now if the targeting sensors went out of alignment_, Archer mused. He had a suspicion that fine-tuning the ill-behaved contraptions had become a sort of ritual which the lieutenant secretly enjoyed. But no, the targeting sensors were behaving properly these days, _the little bastards_.

Trip – well, Trip was Trip. Almost nothing could dampen his optimistic nature; yet even he was not his typical self lately. Sitting at the engineering console near a cataleptic Malcolm, Trip was fidgeting. Of course it didn't help that he had never been crazy about bridge duty to start with - it kept him away from his beloved engines. The lack of problems to solve and challenges to meet meant that all the energy which the engineer usually put into his job had no natural outlet. So he used it, among other things, to bug his crewmates, T'Pol and Malcolm seeming to be his preferred victims.

"It's awfully quiet in this patch of the universe, Subcommander. Why don't you take a peek at those Vulcan star charts and tell us if we're ever bound to find anythin' of interest?" Trip teased. "I don't know, some asteroid to blow up, just to give our Armoury Officer somethin' to do. I'm gettin' real worried about him; he looks pretty out of it, and with no bad guys to shoot at he might lose it altogether and turn his bellicose instincts against us."

The engineer shot a provocative look at Reed, who just glared at him. Then he continued, "Tell you what: the person whose monitor shows somethin' first gets to choose the movie for next week."

Archer chuckled and turned to his left to watch T'Pol's reaction. Or lack thereof.

"The Vulcans never explored this region of space, Commander," T'Pol commented, raising her head only enough to cast a level glance at Trip across the bridge. "Consulting our star charts would be of no use. As for your proposal, it is illogical to reward a person for something over which he or she has no influence; in addition, I'd be hardly qualified to select a …" A 'beep' interrupted her.

A second later Archer heard a stereophonic 'Captain', as his Science and Armoury Officers reacted simultaneously to readings on their monitors.

He looked left and then right, and saw Reed on the verge of speaking. But then the Lieutenant gave a curt nod to his Vulcan superior, deferring to her higher rank.

"Captain, long range sensors are picking up a system, approximately one light year from here. One planet appears to be M class," T'Pol calmly stated.

Archer's eyes twinkled as he took a deep breath and perched himself on the edge of his seat.

"Great! Looks like our collective prayers were finally answered. Travis, lay in a course. T'Pol, Malcolm: see what you can find out about this M-class planet before we get there. Hoshi, keep your ears open. Trip, see if you can give us a bit of extra steam. We might be looking at a new first contact," the Captain finished with a satisfied smile.

A chorus of "Aye, Sir" answered him as the spirits of the crew suddenly perked up.

* * *

The ship had zoomed through space, quickly closing the distance that separated her from the system.

The bridge's view-screen now showed the image of a large planet, not unlike earth, with mountains and plains, deserts and waters. Scans had revealed that it was inhabited. The species was technologically advanced but not yet capable of warp speed. Needless to say, Archer had decided to make contact and instructed Hoshi to send a message to one of the biggest cities they had detected.

"Sir, we are being hailed," Hoshi informed her Captain.

Archer nodded and stood up, feeling the rush of excitement he always experienced when he was about to set eyes on a species no human had ever seen before. "On screen," he ordered the young linguist.

All eyes converged onto the view-screen. The humanoid alien that appeared was quite a sight. She – Archer felt pretty sure it was a she – was rather matronly and exuded an air of self-assurance. Hair the colour of ripe wheat, shoulder-long and neatly combed back, framed a remarkable face, where a small and comely nose was topped by eyes that seemed to have all the colours of the rainbow, translucently interchanging. The effect was almost hypnotizing.

"I am Captain Jonathan Archer, of the starship Enterprise," The Captain began, launching into his standard introduction.

Then the alien began speaking in a guttural, consonant laden language. After a few sentences the UT started to work and everyone could understand what was being said

"Pleased to meet you, Captain. My name is Tara III, and I am the governess of Fan'her, which is the capital city of Herion, our homeworld. What brings you to this region of space?"

The alpha shift crew watched as Archer went through the usual explanations and pleasantries. The short conversation ended with a formal invitation for some of Enterprise's command staff to visit Fan'her. Archer immediately accepted, even though he knew that his Armoury Officer would most certainly have something to object.

"I will give instructions so that you are sent information on our culture, Captain," Tara III authoritatively ended. "I would appreciate if you did the same, so that we can both learn something about each other before we meet. You will also receive landing coordinates and protocols."

"It will be my pleasure to do so, Governess. Thank you for the invitation. Archer out."

The screen went blank and the Captain had to stop himself from rubbing his hands in satisfaction. With a wide smile, he turned to his crew. "Get that done right away, Hoshi. You, T'Pol, Trip and Malcolm will be coming with me to the planet tomorrow. Time to brush your dress uniforms and polish your boots!"

* * *

"Ensign Sato and I have reviewed the information that Governess Tara III has sent us. It is most interesting," T'Pol explained, looking pointedly at each member of the away team, who were standing before her in the situation room.

"This is a matriarchal society," she continued. "Which means, as I am sure you understand, that women are the most prominent part of the population, holding all positions of significance. The Governess, in her region, has absolute power for a period of five years, after which democratic elections are held. Only women can vote, of course."

"You call that _democratic_?" Trip cut in with an outraged cry. He was slowly but surely becoming far less enthusiastic about this first contact.

"It is, for their culture, Commander," T'Pol replied unfazed. "Must I remind you that we are not to judge other species by human or Vulcan standards?"

As Trip opened his mouth to interrupt again, Archer admonished, "Trip, that's enough!" He shot an irritated look at his chief engineer, then returned his gaze to T'Pol.

"Men are considered inferior and treated accordingly. Captain, I suggest that we adapt to their customs, as a gesture of friendliness: I shall exit the shuttlepod first, followed by Ensign Sato; then the male officers can disembark in order of rank."

"Brilliant," Reed commented under his breath to Trip, mentally adding, _That's great security. Fan-bloody-tastic!_

"Do you have a question, Lieutenant?" T'Pol asked, raising one eyebrow.

_Damned Vulcan heightened sense of hearing, _Reed silently cursed, while he replied with a characteristic jerk of his head, "I was only considering what that means in terms of security, Subcommander."

"It means, Lieutenant," Archer cut in, with a meaningful look at his armoury officer, "That you'd better start relaxing about our visit to Herion."

Reed drew his lips in a tight line and nodded curtly, biting back a reply that might have landed him in the brig.

"Of course the Governess will treat male officers with respect," T'Pol continued. "Ensign Sato sent her enough information on Earth's customs for her to understand that they are different from those of Fan'her. I urge you, however, to behave in a _gentlemanly_ way," she stressed, looking pointedly at Commander Tucker, who frowned back, "And to refrain from commenting about any interactions between persons of different sexes you might witness: you will probably find them unacceptable."

"Anything else, T'Pol?" Archer asked expectantly. Every time T'Pol briefed them, he felt back in school. He hoped he didn't make the same impression on his officers.

The Vulcan surveyed them all one last time; then answered "No, Captain. We may proceed to the launch bay."

Reed saw Archer break into a wide smile – he looked as excited as Porthos in front of a plate full of cheese – and clenched his jaw, this was going to be a very long day. He felt Trip elbow his ribs and, turning to look at him, saw the engineer suppressing a chuckle at the incensed look that he must've unconsciously been shooting at their captain.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

222

"It's beautiful down there," Commander Tucker exclaimed as he guided the Shuttlepod to the landing coordinates, "Lush, sunny, mild temperature, and the city looks stunning!"

"Yes, it is rather impressive," Captain Archer agreed, as he took in the pristine appearance of Fan'her. They could see that the city had large streets and magnificent palaces, which, with their stately stairways, almost looked like temples.

"Perhaps a matriarchal society is not such a bad idea after all," Hoshi joked, her eyes wide with wonder.

"It's not everyday you get to be treated better than the Capt'n," Trip replied with a wink, "Enjoy it while it lasts!"

Archer chuckled and T'Pol chose not to comment. Humans would never change. They had to find something funny in every situation. Perhaps not all of them, she corrected herself, studying Lieutenant Reed's expression. Here was one human, on the other hand, who always seemed to take things very seriously. She was grateful, however, for this one member of the crew whose poised personality came so close to that of a Vulcan_. There is an officer one can rely upon_, she thought.

The pod touched down gently on a large square and Trip immediately began the shut down procedures. "We hope you enjoyed your flight and thank you for choosing Starfleet!" he bantered.

T'Pol looked meaningfully at Archer, and the Captain cleared his throat and frowned at the commander, "That's enough joking now, Trip. Remember that we represent Earth here. Let's try and make a good impression." Then he turned to Hoshi and T'Pol and said, with a sweeping gesture towards the hatch, "Well, then. Ladies first."

* * *

Tara III and her retinue were waiting some twenty metres away from the pod, on a podium-like raised area. Even at a distance Archer could recognize the Governess: she had donned a brightly-coloured, loose-fitting tunic over her plump form, but the figure she cut was still a fascinating one and the Captain found himself thinking that at a younger age she must have been quite a lovely… lady? _If that's what you call a female alien_, he mused.

T'Pol led her human crewmates towards the group of Herionites, who were climbing down the stairs of the podium.

Governess Tara had brought with her a few dignitaries, all females of course, and if truth be told some of them were rather good-looking, Archer thought.

Colour seemed a distinctive feature of this species. Aside from their outfits, which were far from 'dull', they all had hair of very bright shades ranging from pale blond to deep red. But the most incredible feature remained their eyes, which kept changing colour with a mesmerising effect.

Archer felt powerless to divert his gaze from one of Tara's young aides, a fascinating creature, to be sure: her hair was a deep blond and her features were finely chiselled. Her bearing was elegant, almost noble, and she had floated down the stairs with sensual steps, passing her hand over her silky locks, as if to comb them back. The Captain's breath had caught at the sight and now he felt riveted to the ground, completely rapt in wonder.

Trip surreptitiously pulled Malcolm's sleeve, and the two exchanged an eloquent look: was this the man who had just lectured them about representing Earth and making a good impression?

Hoshi caught their silent communication – her training came in handy sometimes – and stifled a giggle. She saw T'Pol study the Captain and wondered if the green on her cheeks was envy – God forbid! – or her natural complexion. She stifled another giggle.

The two groups met, and the Vulcan Subcommander bowed her head and introduced herself and Hoshi, the Captain, and then Trip and Malcolm. The Governess did the same with herself and her aides. Trip and Malcolm pricked up their ears to catch the name of the fair lady who had captured the Captain's attention, it sounded something like Peg'ir.

"I am honoured to meet you, Captain," Tara III formally declared.

"And I you," Archer replied. Then he bowed low, shifting his eyes as he did so to catch the look on T'Pol's face. _Am I doing this right, Subcommander?_ By now he had pretty well learnt to interpret the Vulcan's facial expressions, but he wasn't so sure that what he read there now was approval.

Trip and Malcolm followed suit, and the engineer took advantage of their bent down position to murmur to his friend, "Stop starin', you old scoundrel, the Capt'n saw her first!" The lieutenant just shot him an incinerating side glance.

* * *

An open four-wheel vehicle, oddly looking like a parade carriage, was parked a short distance away, at the beginning of a long avenue that led to the city centre. Trees in bloom lined this boulevard, the flowers filling the air with sweet perfume.

The Governess invited T'Pol, Hoshi and the Captain to ride with her and her aids in the vehicle. She did not even deign to glance at Trip and Malcolm.

Reed looked at Tucker with outraged bewilderment. "Grand," he muttered under his breath "Are we two expected to walk behind? Or perhaps drag ourselves on our knees?"

Trip shrugged, mildly amused at his friend's indignation; then he caught sight of Archer taking a seat beside his blond beauty and, smiling, jerked his head in the Captain's direction, to draw Malcolm's attention to the scene.

Suddenly and without any noise the carriage's wheels somehow were set in motion and, with them, also those in Tucker's mind: _What the hell, where's the damn engine? And who's driving?_

Malcolm sighed, resigned to having to play slave and follow on foot. He started walking, grabbing his thoughtful friend by a sleeve and pulling him forward with him. Fortunately the vehicle's pace was quite slow, allowing them to stroll comfortably in its wake.

They had been going for a few minutes when Trip was shaken out of his technical ponderings by an odd sound, as if air were escaping from a punctured tube. For a moment he thought the carriage might have got a flat. But those he saw on the wheels were definitely not tyres, plus the sound was coming from his left.

_Pfff_

He turned and was amazed to see the generally over-apprehensive and stiff Armoury Officer on the verge of exploding into laughter.

"Shush, Mal! What's got into you?" Trip whispered, grabbing his arm and giving it a light shake.

_Good thing there's no one else walking with us and on the carriage they are all busy talking, _he thought with some relief. Humans and Herionites were indeed pleasantly engaged in several parallel conversations, and Trip welcomed the resulting buzz, which, to some extent, covered their own voices.

Malcolm grinned like an idiot and whispered back, conspiratorially, "Something just popped into my head."

Trip shot him a curious look. "What?" he enquired, after making sure that T'Pol's Vulcan hearing had not gone on tactical alert.

Malcolm's eyes were dancing with mirth as he began to sing softly, "'As we marched down to Faneri-o, as we marched down to Faneri-o, our Captain fell in love with a lady like a dove, and they called her name pretty Peggy-o'."

Then, with another foolish grin, he looked expectantly at Tucker, as if asking "Aren't you getting it?"

Trip frowned, turned to look at the carriage, where Archer seemed completely hypnotized, and then at Malcolm again. After a moment he broke into a grin of his own.

"You devil! How did you think of that old song?" he murmured, "It _is_ kinda weird… Faneri-o -- Fan'her, Peggy-o -- Peg'ir, they sound almost the same!"

_Pfff! _

Malcolm was having a very hard time repressing his laughter, and Trip, needless to say, found his hilarity quite infectious.

In a low voice he admonished, "Be careful, Lieutenant! You don't want to alert the Subcommander's super hearing."

Then, with a conniving glance at his friend, he murmured, "Remember the second verse? It's quite fitting," and he leaned over to Malcolm, singing softly, "'Come running down the stairs pretty _Peg'ir-o_, come running down the stairs pretty _Peg'ir-o_, come running down the stairs combing back your yellow hair, you're the prettiest little girl I've ever seen-o'."

Reed swayed as he held his midsection in an effort to refrain from guffawing and Trip grabbed him by the arm again, slightly concerned. "Hey," he whispered, "Are you ok?"

"Never better," Malcolm managed to utter, regaining a semblance of composure. He took in a deep, audible breath, trying to get a hold of himself, only to find that it was almost impossible.

_Pfff…_

_Uh, oh! There we go again! _Trip thought, his lips curving upwards. He'd never seen Malcolm like this, but it sure beat the by-the-book version.

"Come on, take another deep breath for me, Lieutenant, and that's an order," he quietly instructed. He did not want to restrain Malcolm's good spirits, but neither did he care to be at the centre of the umpteenth diplomatic incident.

"Right-o!" Reed saluted, standing at attention; then he obeyed the order and breathed deeply - in through the nose, out through the mouth - successfully recovering some self-control.

After a few more metres, Malcolm leaned towards Trip waggling his eyebrows, "The third verse is bloody perfect, seems composed just for the occasion: 'In a carriage you will ride, pretty _Peg'ir-o_, in a carriage you will ride, pretty _Peg'ir-o_, in a carriage you will ride, with your true love by your side, as fair as any maiden in the are-o'."

"Son of a…" Trip softy chuckled. They both looked at their Captain, who was still lost in conversation with the charming alien, and shook their heads with one accord, in mock reproach.

Malcolm giggled, swayed again and stumbled, and Trip this time had to grab him with both hands to stop him from falling. Tucker cast a worried glance first at the carriage – where they were all still in deep conversation and blessedly unaware of what was going on behind them – and then at his friend. Malcolm didn't look ill or anything, but this was getting to be a bit too out of character for him.

"Mal, are you sure you're feeling ok?" he enquired with concern, "You're not usually _this_ happy."

"I'm fine, Commander," Reed mumbled back. Then, in mock offence, he slurred, "Why, don't you like me in a silly mood?"

"Have you been drinking on duty?" Trip frowned.

"You know, that's just brilliant, Mr. Tucker, why didn't I think of it before!" Reed replied, holding his chin and knitting his brow as if seriously considering the idea, "As the Captain doesn't seem to realise that I have a duty to carry out, I might as well get pissed."

Trip studied Malcolm. _Maybe he's finally learned to relax on away missions, _he tried to reassure himself.

Reed took another deep breath and asked, not all that quietly this time, "So, Commander, aren't you going to sing us the next verse?"

"Shush! Not so loud!" Tucker grabbed him by the sleeve and held him back a little, to put a bit more distance between them and the carriage.

He saw T'Pol stir on her seat, but the Vulcan kept talking and did not turn around, probably not wanting to attract the attention of the others.

"Have you lost your voice?" Malcolm joked, his own voice low again.

Trip wondered if he shouldn't put an end to their repartee. He considered. He'd spent months encouraging the formal armoury officer to be more laid-back: was he supposed to subdue him the one time he finally let go a little?

_What the hell, we are only having a little innocent fun, _he thought, smothering the nagging little voice that kept insisting that something wasn't right with Reed.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to recall the song's next lines, "Let me think… oh, yeah: 'What will your mother say pretty _Peg'ir-o_, what will your mother say pretty _Peg'ir-o_, what will your mother say when she finds you've gone away, to places far and strange to _Fan'her-io_'"

Malcolm stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Do you suppose the Captain will take her with us?" He sounded dead serious, and the fact that he didn't seem to be joking sent Trip's anxiety up a few notches. He examined his friend more closely. Malcolm's eyes didn't seem normal.

Suddenly Reed giggled and commented, completely unmindful of the volume of his voice, "Ha! Imagine if Peg'ir's mother is someone like this Tara III: I don't even dare to think what she would say if her daughter decided to leave on Enterprise. Her vocabulary can probably make my sailor ancestors blush in their graves!"

By now Trip was sure that it was time to put an end to their bantering. T'Pol had suddenly straightened her back and even the Captain had briefly diverted his eyes from Peg'ir, to cast a suspicious glance over his shoulders. Hoshi had cleared her throat in warning.

"Time to get a grip, Mal," he cautiously whispered to his friend.

"Get a grip on what?" Malcolm exclaimed, as he resumed walking "Or, I should say, on _whom_? I wouldn't mind getting a grip on that lovely…"

Trip quickly clamped a hand on Reed's mouth and just as quickly removed it, stifling a cry, "You _bit_ me, you…!"

Malcolm shot him a totally unrepentant look, "Just practising, in case I get to…"

"Shush! Malcolm!" Trip was quite worried now. Even the Herionites were beginning to turn, curious about what was going on behind the carriage.

"Commander, you are aware that there is a last verse to that song, are you not?" Malcolm now all but shouted, leaning on Trip's shoulder to steady himself. "Ha! It is my very favourite one!"

T'Pol turned all the way and gave them the Vulcan version of an angry look. Tara III had stopped talking, as had all the other occupants of the carriage. Everybody turned to look at them.

Trip swallowed hard. He made a mental fast forward of the song and his eyes widened in horror. He stepped in front of Malcolm and waved his hands in a desperate effort to prevent disaster.

"Oh, no, Mal, you don't really want to…" But Reed was already singing at the top of his lungs, "'If ever I return, pretty _Peg'ir-o_, if ever I return, pretty _Peg'ir-o_, if ever I return all your cities I will burn, destroying all the ladies in the are-o, destroying all the ladies in the are-o'!"

The vehicle stopped and a heavy silence fell.

Malcolm snorted. "Actually, I wouldn't burn them, I would blow them up. Burning cities sounds so… _medieval_," he remarked, his voice ringing out in the still air. "Pity, though, to destroy so many lovely ladies!" he sighed ecstatically.

Another voice barked out, that of Tara III. "Guards!" She spoke into a sort of communicator. A moment later five Herionite guards armed with phase pistols materialised beside the carriage. They were male and quite a bit smaller in size than the females of their species.

"Arrest him!" the Governess ordered pointing to Reed.

"Bugger off, you midgets!" Reed exclaimed, and burst into laughter.

"I don't believe this!" Archer moaned, standing up unsteadily, "The one time Trip behaves, Malcolm goes nuts!"

T'Pol was looking at Reed as if she had never seen the man before. Well, she had never seen the man _like this_ before. So much for the officer one could rely upon.

"Capt'n, you've got to do somethin'," Trip cried out, standing protectively in front of his friend, "You can't allow them to arrest him, he's obviously not himself!"

"Apprehend him too!" the Governess bellowed, pointing at Trip now.

Trip saw Hoshi put a hand to her mouth and stifle a cry. _Damn, damn, damn, _he silently cursed, _why can't we ever have a smooth first contact?_

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

333

"I can assure you, Governess, my officer did not mean what he said," Archer repeated once again, trying hard to keep calm and act _gentlemanly_.

To avoid a dangerous confrontation they had agreed to return aboard Enterprise and this conversation was taking place through a comm link.

Malcolm and Trip had been dragged off to prison and the fact that Reed had opposed no resistance, laughing as if it had been all a big joke, had Archer very concerned.

"He is your Armoury Officer, is he not?" Tara III angrily countered, glaring from the screen, "He threatened to blow up our cities and kill all our female population. I have a responsibility to take his words very seriously, Captain. You should be grateful that you were not _all_ arrested."

T'Pol saw Archer fume and anticipated his reply. "Governess, we have reason to believe that Lieutenant Reed has been intoxicated by something on your planet which is having an adverse effect on him. We understand your concern, but kindly ask you to hold off your judgement until our physician has examined our officer. We are quite certain Doctor Phlox can produce evidence proving that Mr. Reed is not himself."

Tara III's eyes flashed with suppressed anger. She was silent for a few moments; then heaved a deep sigh and relented, "Fine. I will send a shuttle to pick up your doctor. He shall conduct his examination and all his tests here in Fan'her. In the meantime, speaking of evidence, I suggest you view the security tape of the incident, which I have sent you, Captain."

Before T'Pol or Archer could reply the link was cut.

"What a charming lady," Archer growled, "She didn't even say goodbye!" And he stormed out of the bridge into his ready room ordering Hoshi, "Get me that tape!"

* * *

Trip heard a soft moan and stopped pacing, turning to cast a worried look at Malcolm. When the guards had dragged them off to prison, Reed had kept giggling and cracking jokes all the way, confirming Trip's dark suspicion that something was having a very disturbing effect on the armoury officer.

Once alone in their cell, Malcolm had staggered to the cot which stood against a wall, collapsing onto it and promptly falling asleep. At least a couple of hours had passed since then, and his friend had hardly stirred.

Trip gently put Malcolm's arm on the man's stomach to make some room on the bed, and sat on its edge, feeling his friend's forehead: it was a bit warm, he realised with concern.

He saw Reed stir under his touch and crack one eye open. Then both his blue-grey eyes gradually widened and slowly focused on his own. Thankfully they looked normal again.

"I'm not sure you want to wake up," the engineer stated with a grim smile.

"I'm quite certain I don't," Malcolm groaned, closing his eyes tight again and turning on his side, "Bloody hell, my head is killing me! How many bottles did I down?" he asked softly.

"I hate to tell you this, but your headache has nothing to do with getting drunk."

"Lovely," Malcolm grunted, "That means I must've got myself another concussion." Then, with his eyes still closed, he slurred, "How did I get it this time? Nothing embarrassing, I hope, like standing up abruptly inside some crawl space."

"No concussion either, I'm afraid," Trip sombrely replied.

That definitely got Malcolm's attention. His eyes flew open and the expression in them was one of puzzlement mixed with concern. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings and quickly tried to get up, only to fall back on the bed with a cry, holding his head in pain.

"Easy, Lieutenant," Trip cautioned, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, "Something is – or hopefully _was_ – very wrong with you."

"_What_?" Malcolm wailed, cracking his eyes open again, "Where on earth are we?"

"We're not on Earth, unfortunately," Trip commented wryly. Then he heaved a deep sigh and gently probed, "Remember Herion, the new planet we came across?"

There was a pause as Reed knitted his brow in concentration. Trip silently prayed that he would start remembering things on his own; he wasn't looking forward to describing the crazy circumstances that had led them to their present predicament.

"Matriarchal society… Tara III…" Trip hinted, raising his eyebrows.

Malcolm blinked in blissful ignorance, then his eyes shifted from Trip's face to the far side of the room and widened in horror. He asked, cringing, "Those are not what they look like, are they?"

Trip turned and immediately realised what Mal was referring to.

"As a matter of fact, they are: prison bars."

"Oh, hell!" Reed cursed, "What in the sodding universe happened?"

He held out his right arm and let Trip pull him up to a sitting position. Immediately the room began to spin and he fell forward, moaning and cradling his head again.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Trip enquired with concern. Although Malcolm seemed to be his old self again, he was quite worried about his friend's evident pain.

"Get me off the merry-go-round and I promise I won't throw up," was the choked reply.

Tucker chuckled, a little relieved. Mal couldn't be all that ill if he was joking.

"I'm dizzy and nauseous. And my throat tickles," Reed then added more seriously, coughing slightly.

There was a pause. Suddenly Malcolm sprang back up from his bent over position, recollection dawning in his eyes. He began to shake his head slowly.

"Matriarchal society… Tara III… oh, no, no, no, it cannot be! This _is_ a nightmare, right? It _has_ to be a bleeding night…" His voice trailed off as his mind obviously found some more pieces of the puzzle.

"I didn't actually…" he queried, a wavering of hope still in his voice.

Trip bit his lower lip and scratched his neck. "Sorry, Mal" he muttered.

"I _did_?" Malcolm cried out in anguish, "_Sing_? -- _That_?"

"Look, somethin' definitely affected you," Trip tried to comfort him, "I'm sure the Capt'n will forgive you, once we find out what it was."

"I'm not sure I'll want to see the Captain ever again," Reed moaned, "This is worse than Risa, for heaven's sake! Much worse! At least there nobody saw us!"

"Well, I'll admit, you gave a stunnin' performance, Lieutenant," Trip chuckled. "And there I thought I was the expert in diplomatic incidents!"

Malcolm didn't seem to find that amusing. "I hope the method of execution on this planet is swift and painless," he commented in a resigned voice. "It might be preferable than a life sentence in a Starfleet prison."

Trip was about to reply when they heard steps approaching. He immediately tensed up and stood, looking at his friend with apprehension. But the figure that appeared with a guard on the other side of the bars was quite familiar, and relief washed over him.

"Ah, Commander, how are you feeling?" The ever cheerful voice of Doctor Phlox enquired. "Or, I should say, how is Lieutenant Reed? Is he still acting in an odd way?"

* * *

Archer pushed a button and the screen in his ready room went blank. He pinched his nose and shook his head. These people might not have warp-capable vessels but they sure had more than enough technology to make a high definition recording. Malcolm's little stunt had been captured in all its embarrassing details, as had Trip's supporting role. But if he was honest with himself, his own behaviour had left much to be desired. He had looked like a drooling teenager with the first crush.

_Those changing eyes were really mesmerising_, he repeated to himself; but he got little comfort from the idea. Of course it didn't help that he was still more than a little worried about Malcolm. The man singing on the screen was most definitely _not_ the normal version of his Armoury Officer, and he really hoped Doctor Phlox could prove that something was wrong with him or he'd have to find a way to break him and Trip out of prison.

There was a 'beep' from the comm link, and he sat forward in his chair to answer.

"Archer."

"Captain," Hoshi's voice said. "They are hailing us from the surface."

"Thank you, Ensign. Put it through," Archer replied, mentally bracing against more bad news.

He switched on the monitor and held his breath. A jovial alien face appeared on it. "Doctor, what news do you have?" the Captain asked without wasting time.

"Captain, it's what I thought, I'm glad to report," Phlox answered with glee. "Lieutenant Reed suffered a psychotropic reaction to the pollen of the blossoming trees lining the avenue."

"Are you able to prove it?" The Captain immediately enquired.

"Of course! Everything has been clarified with Governess Tara III. Your officers are being released from prison as we are speaking."

Phlox cleared his throat. "Ah, Captain, there is one more thing…"

"Go ahead, Doctor," Archer prompted him, for he seemed to have lost his tongue.

"It appears that, according to Fan'herian law, males are strictly forbidden to sing in the presence of the Governess, unless previously authorised; so the Commander and Lieutenant will have to… uhm, atone, so to speak." Phlox explained, without actually explaining anything.

"Atone? What do you mean? Can't you be a little more specific?" Archer insisted, beginning to lose his patience.

"They'll have to – ah – spend the next couple of days in the service of the Governess and her aides."

"_What_?" Archer burst out in disdain, "We are talking of Starfleet officers here! She can't treat them like her damn… minions!"

"Uhm, Captain, may I suggest that you make use of your fine diplomatic skills and – what do humans say in these cases, I believe it's – 'turn a blind eye'? We don't want the Governess to get angrier than she already is, now, do we?" Phlox hinted meaningfully. His disconcertingly blue eyes stared at him from the screen. "She has formally promised me that in two days' time Enterprise will be able to leave with all her officers duly accounted for."

Archer clenched his jaw. He was furious but, if truth be told, more at the thought that once again a first contact had gone awry than at the Governess's request. His officers had broken Fan'herian law, after all, and it was just fitting that they should 'atone'. In any case their punishment didn't sound very harsh.

"Alright, you can tell the _Governess_ that we agree to her terms," he finally ground out.

"Excellent! I will do so right away."

"And tell her also that if anything bad happens to either one of my officers I will personally 'burn all the cities and destroy all the ladies' of the _damn_ _are-o_," Archer added, for no other reason than to let off a bit of steam.

Phlox looked quite perplexed, so Archer sighed and apologised, "Sorry Doc. Forget about that. Just venting some irritation."

After a pause he asked, "By the way, how's Malcolm feeling?"

"He has the symptoms of a hangover, but they will disappear soon enough. He'll be fine, don't worry. Mainly, he feels awfully embarrassed about what happened."

"Better believe it," Archer chuckled, smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages.

"Captain, I also found another interesting phenomenon, which you… uhm, might like to know about. Apparently the Herionites' peculiar eyes are known to have hypnotising effects on some species. I believe you understand what I am getting at?"

Archer blinked. "You mean I was also not myself down there?"

"Precisely," Phlox stated with delight.

Relief was almost overwhelming. "Thank you, Doctor," the Captain replied, feeling suddenly very tired. "I'll see you soon. Archer out."

* * *

Travis Mayweather tried to concentrate on piloting the shuttle back to Enterprise, but his eyes wouldn't keep focused straight ahead and kept shifting, instead, to the corners, in the effort to look surreptitiously at the back of the small vessel, where Tucker and Reed sat in silence. They didn't seem in the right mood for conversation, so the helmsman kept quiet.

The two men sure looked wiped. Travis hadn't learnt much of what had happened down on the planet, and his curiosity was piqued. _Sooner or later I'll get Hoshi to tell me what she knows. I have my ways_, Travis mused.

"Gawd, I'm glad we're going home!" Trip sighed. "Another 'yes ma'm' and I would've gone nuts," he told Malcolm, making sure his voice didn't carry to the helmsman.

"I'd share your feelings, if it weren't for the fact that going back means I'll have to look Captain Archer in the eye," Malcolm replied grimly. "As for the rest, I think this experience has forever ruined my appreciation of the female universe."

"Oh, come on, Mal! Serving the Governess was no fun, I'll grant you that, but I saw the way you were lookin' at that red-head – what was her name? – who changed office and made us do all the movin'," Trip commented playfully.

"Right. If looks could kill she'd be a pile of colourful dust now," Malcolm replied sourly. "I've never seen an office cluttered with so much rubbish."

Fifteen minutes later the Shuttlepod was safe inside Enterprise.

* * *

The previous day Archer had sent T'Pol to meet his officers in the launch bay. He had told himself that he wanted to give Malcolm a little bit more time to recover before seeing him. He certainly couldn't blame the lieutenant for having had a reaction to pollen and felt bad for the man, knowing how strict he was with himself. But in fact he was also a bit embarrassed to face Tucker and Reed, after watching himself on tape.

Archer had got up quite early that morning to avoid any chance of meeting the two officers in the corridors or the mess hall. He preferred to invite them to his ready room. Having downed the last bit of his coffee, he triggered the doors of his private dining room open and marched out of it, almost running smack into Reed who, apparently, had had the same idea.

"Captain," Reed managed to utter, snapping to attention. Archer saw a sickly colour slowly creep up his cheeks.

"Lieutenant, uhm, at ease," Archer replied hoarsely. "Feeling any better?" he then enquired with an encouraging smile.

"Yes, Sir, much better, thank you," Malcolm answered tautly, ignoring the order to relax his stance. He cringed at the idea of looking the Captain in the eye and standing at attention made it easier to avoid that.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Archer saw Reed swallow hard and could not hold back a soft chuckle. The man's eyes shifted briefly from the far wall to his face, an alarmed look in them.

_Hell, I may feel a bit nervous myself but if I don't lighten the mood Malcolm will end up in sickbay with a breakdown!_

"So tell me, Lieutenant, is 'burning cities' really considered '_medieval_'?" the Captain questioned with another chuckle.

"Captain, I…" Reed began, fumbling for words.

"Relax, Malcolm, psychotropic reactions are not in the list of offences punishable by a court martial," Archer laughed. "Not that I approve of your choice of songs, mind you," he added, in mock reproach.

"Why, Capt'n, I thought it was perfect!" a familiar voice cut in. Trip was entering the mess hall, a wide smile plastered on his face. "You've got to admit, it was kind of funny that…"

"Is everybody getting up an hour earlier this morning?" Archer interrupted him, frowning.

"Actually, just the three of us, it seems," Trip shrugged. Getting himself a cup of coffee, he shot an amused look at Malcolm, who appeared horrified at his boldness.

Malcolm _was _horrified; and not a little envious of Trip's laid-back nature. Tucker looked totally unperturbed, as if nothing had happened. Malcolm sighed inwardly. He'd never manage to be even half as relaxed as his friend.

Archer gave Trip a reproachful glance. Then he put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "I suppose Doctor Phlox has already told you that your ravings and my… daydreaming were both induced by external factors, hasn't he?"

"Yes, Sir, he has," Reed replied, finally able to raise his eyes to those of the Captain.

"Good. Then let us both forget about the incident, Lieutenant, and that's an order," Archer concluded, preparing to leave. "See you later on the bridge, gentlemen. I'll let you have your breakfast in peace," he said, walking towards the door.

He was already there when he stopped and, without turning, called out, "Ah, Malcolm?"

"Sir?" Reed replied warily.

"One last thing: next time we go on an away mission to an inhabited planet, do me a favour and stick to… The Sounds of Silence?"

THE END

Ps. The song, "Peggy-o", is a traditional song which was re-arranged by Simon and Garfunkel (Album "Wednesday morning 3 A.M.)


End file.
